Two Rockets Walk into a Bar
by thats-a-moray
Summary: One says to the other, Why do we always lose to a ten year old? Seriously funny. Rated for humorous naming of cocktails.


"Why do we always lose?" Joe blinked dully at nothing.

They were sitting at the bar inside the _Dusty Sandshrew_ and Joe had just downed his third Flamethrower; a cocktail composed of rum, vodka, one splash lime and one splash grenadine and served flaming courtesy of the bartender's vulpix. Harry shook his head, drawing a Team Rocket logo on the table with one greasy finger.

"Well?"

"I don't know, Joe," Harry groaned. He just didn't want to talk about it. They'd been on the same team for seven years; Harry an ex-cat burglar, Joe a Poke'mon College dropout. They were grunt members of Sector 9, hardly the for-runners of any operation, but close enough to the action to have gotten into some pretty tight spots over the years. Harry loved Joe like a brother, not that he'd ever confess that sort of thing. The _Dusty Sandshrew _was their favorite pub in the whole Kanto region, and they'd been plastered in nearly every pub in the Kanto region spanning their career. Yet no matter where they drank, no matter how good a time they were having, Joe always brought up the same stupid subject.

"I'm serious!" Joe slurred. "We must have tried to conquer the world a… a dozen times." He held up three fingers. "And every time, every _single _time some twelve year old comes outta no where and he decimals us."

"I think you mean decimates."

Joe shook his head, his hair swinging across his face. He hunched over the bar and dipped his head, holding it in his hands. Harry's eyes widened. He looked around desperately, praying someone else would handle this, the bartender maybe. If Joe started crying Harry didn't want to be the one to hug him. That'd look bad in front of the other guys. Joe's fist came down on the table, rattling his drink. In no time the bartender appeared, took a glance at Joe and then at Joe's empty glass. "Another round, sir?"

Joe took a big sniff and nodded faintly. With another gasp he lifted his head, pushing the glass in front of the bartender. Harry gave a relieved sigh. After the bartender waddled away he leaned over Joe and covertly massaged his shoulder. "Look we don't lose every battle. I mean sometimes we win. It's just… when we get to the big thing, somebody messes up. No big deal. Nobody ever said it was your fault."

"How do you know? My parents always told me I'd a failure. They told me to spend more time on my homework. Then m-my dad would come home… and he'd get his belt—!"

"Hey. Don't you ever listen to anything your dad said to you, man. You know it's not true. And if anyone's to blame for our failures it's those guys with the Meowth."

The bartender was coming back. Harry quickly extracted his hand from Joe's shoulder and hunted the other tables, but no one seemed to have noticed the gesture. He took a drag on his cigarette to throw off any suspicious team mates. Joe held back another sniffle, unable to muster the strength to blow out the Flamethrower. The bartender's cheerful smile melted and he reached down and blew out the flame for Joe, but Joe just stared at the counter with his shoulders counting sobs building in his chest. Harry looked at the bartender. Bartender leaned over, "Something bothering you, Joe?" But Joe just shook his head. Another customer rapped the table and the bartender sighed and left them alone.

Harry felt the hairs stand up on the back of his neck, a bad premonition. He glanced over his shoulder and noticed the Boss glaring at them with hard, beady eyes. The Boss was no Giovanni, but he could burn holes in the back of a charmander with those eyes and Harry wagered one of the stricter executive bosses of the Rockets. "Hey, Joe, quit it. The Boss is looking," he whispered, eyes darting back. Joe didn't look up.

The Boss stood up, scratched his rear, and started toward the bar. Harry ducked his head. If the Boss caught Joe crying again he'd drag him outside and smack him upside the head. The last time Joe had a break down in one of the local pubs the Boss threatened to kick him off the team. Joe didn't have anywhere to go, but what could Harry do? He'd never forgive himself if he let Joe get taken back to his parents' place, but he didn't want to lose his job too. Harry clung to his cigarette and tried to put himself back in Saffron City sneaking out of that old lady's house with Sparks and the jewels when he had not a care in the world except how filthy stinking rich he was going to be once he sold the diamonds on the black market. Ten feet. Six feet. Five feet! The Boss turned to the right and headed past the bar into the men's room. Harry glanced at Joe, who had his fingers wrapped up in his hair tighter than two tangelas hugging, and figured he had maybe five minutes to get this right. Stabbing out his cigarette, he nudged Joe in the elbow to get his attention. "Joe. Hey Joe. Prepare for trouble."

Joe stared at him with watery eyes. Harry nudged him again, voice deepening. _"Prepare for trouble."_

Joe hesitated. He blubbered, "Make it double…?"

"To protect the world from devastation."

Nothing. Harry put on a smile and shook his fist. "To protect the _world_ from _devastation!"_

"To… to unite all peoples… within our nation."

"To denounce the _evils _of _truth _and _love!"_

"To… to extend our reach to the stars above!" A tiny smile broke Joe's lips.

"Harry."

_"Joe!"_

"Team Rocket blasting off at the speed of _light!"_ Harry thrust his hand in front of Joe. Joe slapped it firmly.

"Surrender now or prepare to _fight!"_

They hooked their fingers together, bumped knuckles, gave each other high-fives and a thumbs up. "Yeah!"

"Whoo!" Joe rocked his stool on its back legs and laughed. He wiped a tear from his eye. "Oh, thank you Harry."

"Don't mention it." He checked the bar. A few people were staring at them, expressions somewhat worrisome but mostly perplexed. Harry clicked off a smile and tried to ignore it. At least Joe would be break-down free for another day, neither of them had to worry about losing their jobs, and Harry could finally enjoy his drink. As he lifted the glass he heard Joe sigh. Joe cupped the edge of the counter and gazed at the tarnished bottles of _Sandshrew Ale_ shimmering on the top shelf.

"I tell you, Harry, I feel like I could take on the world. We'll get them next time, won't we?"

Harry smirked. Sometimes he envied Joe's ability to be cheered up by something as doltish as the Team Rocket chant. "Of course we will. We're unstoppable."

"I feel unstoppable, you know? My poke'mon aren't that bad. I think I've got a great team. I get it now. I've just been letting the things my dad used to say to me get me down. Well not anymore. From now on I'm not letting anybody stand in my way."

Now Harry felt tears stinging his eyes and he swallowed to push them away. Maybe it was just the vodka talking, but he felt closer to Joe than he'd been to anyone, ever. And hell, if Joe could believe in Team Rocket, he could too. Next time they really would be victorious. When the two of them worked together they would be invincible, the greatest duo Team Rocket had ever known, and someday that would make them famous. Sure. Sure it would.  
"Like that guy!"

"Hm?" Harry looked around, jarred from his delusions of grandure. He glanced at Joe. "What'd you say?"

"That guy over there, acting so tough. I bet he thinks he's better than all of us put together. Look at how he's sitting."

Harry followed Joe's finger across the bar. Everything: the rust colored walls and people chatting, the smell of vodka cooling his fingers, the jukebox tune _Black Rapidash & a Cherry Tree_ allfaded to black. Except for the outline of the man pointed out by Joe. Harry exclaimed, "The guy with the nidoking?"

"Yeah! Who does he think he is coming into our bar with his great big Poke'mon and big… nasty…" He wiggled his fingers. "Gnarly beard."

Once again Harry found himself clinging to the bar like a trio of electrodes were set to explode behind him. "Joe, this isn't officially our bar. It belongs to the owner. We don't have to do anything."

Too late. Before Harry could grab him Joe hobbled out of his stool and confronted the man with the nidoking. His stance alone would have erupted the room in laughter if not for the stoic gaze of the pirate-like beast seated at the bar. The man must have weighed more than half of what his nidoking did, could probably be the nidoking's son, and Harry not imagine his name beginning with something other than Sir or Captain. Spread legged, toes pointed in, Joe whipped his arm at Captain. "Sir!" He groped for one of his poke'balls. Startled by the approaching conflict, Captain jumped out of his seat. The nidoking let out an earthshaking growl. Harry started to feel sick. Joe swayed and found his grip on his poke'ball. "I challenge you to a fight to the death. Go, growlithe!"

The poke'ball poured light into the room, temporarily blinding some of the regulars. Joe reeled, pupils shrinking to the size of pin heads, and hailed blindly into battle. "Flamethrower attack, now!"

A confused shriek from Joe's poke'mon. Harry wanted to slam his head into the bar and wake up in Oz.

He didn't want to say anything. It seemed to be dawning on Joe already. The poke'mon he'd summoned wasn't growlithe. It was golbat. At every table men exploded in laughter, kicked their feet, Joe stood dumbfounded in the center of the room, face red with more than the flavor of liquor. Even the nidoking was chuckling. The one person who wasn't shackled by hysteria was the Boss, who had just come out of the men's room to find the bar in an uproar and his least favorite Rocket in a ridiculously outmatched face off that was already circling the drain.

They were, quite simply, doomed.

Harry gaped at himself. _They? _His fist tightened around his glass and he downed his vodka in one chuck and hopped onto the floor. A second poke'ball flared to life beside Joe's pitifully confused golbat. Harry yelled, "Hyper fang!"

The bartender looked up. Hyper Fang, also known as a Snapping Raticate, was an extremely bitter drink involving a roasted malt and a shot glass of cream and whiskey, but that wasn't what Harry meant.

A giant raticate leapt out of the fading light and drove its fangs into the shoulder of the nidoking. Joe stared blankly at Harry while the Nidoking tried to shake off the other poke'mon. "Fight!" Harry barked, snapping Joe out of his stupor. On Joe's command golbat attacked and the bar lit up with a strobing confuse ray. The nidoking staggered back, tail knocking stools left and right as Captain leapt out of the way and his poke'mon crashed the bar. Drinks spilled, people screamed in fight while some whooped in excitement. Harry threw up his hands and howled victoriously. Joe looked at Harry and then at the nidoking sprawled out at the bar. And then he looked at the Boss shaking with rage in the back of the pub and his nerves shuddered so badly that he dropped to his knees and lost the last three Flamethrowers plus lunch to the floor.

Less than a minute after Joe's final bow, the two of them were hurled out of the bar by a disgruntled machoke bouncer who yelled at them, "Machoke, maaaachoke!" and slammed the door. Harry shook himself off and looked at Joe, sprawled face down in the dirt. He picked up Joe and lifted his arm over his shoulder to give him support. Joe hung from Harry's arm like a tentacool with jelly instead of bones and gave a whining moan.

The Boss stormed out of the _Dusty Sandshrew._ He marched up to Harry and Joe and gave them a hot look that would have set a blastoise's shell on fire and shoved his hand at Harry.

Expression stony, Harry took out his key card to the rocket base and handed it over. Since Joe was too sick to do more than hang his head in shame Harry retrieved his key card also and gave it to the Boss. The cards were laminate, but that didn't stop the Boss from taking out his lighter, setting the cards on fire, and dropping them in front of Harry's feet. Their cards bubbled and curled into black, dead spiders in the dirt, giving off the smell of melted plastic. Mission accomplished the Boss graced them with a parting snarl and stomped back inside without a backwards glance. Feeling Joe start to lurch, Harry cleared his feet from the splatter zone just as Joe coughed a glob of liquor and ham sandwiches onto their smoldering key cards. He moaned horribly. "Are we fired?"

Harry nodded and gazed at the blinking sign on the roof of the _Dusty Sandshrew. _Stars crowded the sky, each outshining the next, struggling to make a name for themselves in the universe. He wrinkled his nose. "It was a dead end job anyway."


End file.
